


Auntie

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [83]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Imagine what young Ian saw between Jamie and Claire on their journey from Edinburgh to Lallybroch that made him feel Claire was his “auntie” and that “Uncle Jamie [was] lucky to have [her] here.”





	Auntie

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/168396497235/imagine-what-young-ian-saw-between-jamie-and) on tumblr

Ian Murray the Younger yawned as he rounded the clump of bushes, tying up his flies.

“There you are.” Claire – crouching on the grass, digging through the small mountain of saddlebags, looked up and pushed a stray curl behind her ear. “Do you remember where you packed that bread and cheese?”

“Aye – believe it was this one.” Ian crouched beside her – this strange woman, or fairy, or white lady, this woman whom his uncle affectionately called a sassenach, of all things – and undid the buckles of the white bag he had tied to the horse this morning.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Jamie just went to hobble the horses – thought it would be good for us all to have a bite to eat when he comes back.”

“Aye.” Ian produced a wrinkled, yet clean cloth from the bag, then the half-stale loaf and wedge of cheese Pauline had packed in the tiny kitchen at the brothel.

“Are you still finding it difficult to breathe?”

Ian looked up from cutting hunks of bread, brows furrowed. “It’s better than yesterday – but my chest is still a wee bit tight.”

“That’s to be expected with smoke inhalation. I can make something for you when we get to Lallybroch – a mixture that you can ask Mrs. Crook to boil, so that you can breathe the steam. It should help open up your lungs.”

“That would be grand.” Ian handed a hunk of bread and cheese to Claire. “Though – and I hope ye dinna mind me saying so – Mrs. Crook died before I was born.”

“Oh.”

Ian glanced up from his own bread and cheese, to see Claire looking at the ground, tearing small chunks of bread and leaving the chunks on her lap, untouched. Lips pursed tight.

Guilt flushed through his body. “I – I dinna mean to insult ye. Only, I thought ye should know.”

She straightened, gave him a quick smile, and continued tearing her bread into ever-smaller chunks.

Silence – heavy and questioning – bloomed between them.

Then footsteps –

“Ach – thanks to ye both for sorting our things out.” Jamie knelt beside Claire, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “I can build a wee fire, if ye like?”

“We’ve nothing to cook, but I’d welcome the warmth. And it would help me examine your hands – it’ll be full dark soon, and it may take a while.”

Ian handed his uncle the final hunk of bread and cheese. “Do ye want me to fetch some wood, then?”

“If ye will, Ian – thank ye.” Jamie chewed around a mouthful of bread, stretching out his long legs beside Claire’s bent ones.

Ian quickly rose and padded away from the makeshift camp. Uncle Jamie had picked a quiet spot up against some rocks and beside a stand of trees – natural shelter – and with the dead branches and tufts of grass found easily by the campsite, it was only a few minutes until he returned, arms full of logs and kindling.

But he paused for a moment before Jamie and Claire heard him. Watching them. So curious about this woman who had dropped out of the clear blue sky – and her effect on his uncle.

For at that moment they sat close together, legs crossed, facing each other. His right hand held the remains of his bread and cheese, his left lay palm upward on Claire’s knee.

“…Can’t hold the reins so tightly. No wonder it’s all cramped up. Does this happen often?”

“Every now and again. I havena rode a horse for an entire day in a long time, perhaps that’s why.”

Claire gently rubbed her thumbs in the well of Jamie’s palm, then turned over his hand to continue with his knuckles.

Even twenty feet away, Ian heard his uncle’s breath hitch.

It was strange, seeing Uncle Jamie with a woman. He’d seen him with Laoghaire, of course – but she never paid him this kind of attention. And he certainly hadn’t let her touch him so – so intimately.

Had Claire enchanted him, then?

Ian coughed and strode back into the campsite, nodding a hello at his uncle and arranging the logs to build a fire.

The sharp tang of wintergreen wafted past Ian’s nose as he rummaged in his pack for flint and steel.

“You’ve got to take care of these blisters, Jamie,” Claire murmured. “Your hands can’t take much more stress.”

Ian could almost hear the shrug. “Ach – ye ken fine that I’ll be given some chore or another as soon as we arrive. But I’ll pass it off to one o’ my nieces or nephews – anything to impress their Mam.”

Spark – spark – and then flame.

“Thank you, Ian.” He turned to settle beside Claire, carefully feeding smaller twigs into the growing fire.

Jamie sighed as Claire continued dabbing the ointment on his knuckles. “Will it be awhile afore I can touch anything, Sassenach?”

“Yes – though I hope you’re not planning to do much more before we sleep. It’s nearly dark, and I can manage the bedrolls and saddlebags – ”

“Weel, I dinna have anything in mind – save giving ye a wee feel under that bodice, when we lie down…”

Ian’s face flushed with heat – and not solely from the growing flames.

Claire sighed.

Jamie grinned.

–

Somewhere in the empty dark, Ian woke.

He had always been a light sleeper, and though he had spent many nights under the stars when he was a wee lad, lately he had been spending more nights at the printshop – and once at the brothel – than out here in the open country.

It was only a rabbit, perhaps – a rustle in the bushes a few yards from where he slept, rolled in his cloak.

The fire had gone out, but the soft heat of the coals still warmed his back. Ian shifted – the moon was almost full – and then turned onto his other side.

Uncle Jamie and Claire had settled on the other side of the fire – clearly seeking as much privacy as was possible out here in the open. And in the soft glow of the moon, Ian could see them. Sleeping nestled like two spoons, Uncle Jamie curled around Claire with his front to her back, one arm locked around her middle. Her arm resting atop his.

Never had he seen two people sleep so closely together – not even his own parents.

Who was she – Claire? This ghost from the past, who remembered things the way they were before Culloden? Who had met his legendary great-uncles Colum and Dougal – and lived in France for a time? And had spent the past twenty years living in the Colonies, fearing Uncle Jamie dead?

And who was Uncle Jamie, now that Claire had come back? No longer the printer – or smuggler – he had been for the past two years. No longer a man haunted by the ghost of his long-lost wife.

Twenty years separated. Longer than he’d been alive.

He tried – and failed – to think what it would be like for his own parents, were they separated for such a time.

It’s a complicated thing, marriage. Two people becoming one – willingly. Sharing lives, and hopes, and happiness, and fears.

And joys. Uncle Jamie’s face – voice – his entire bearing was different now. Ian had never seen him so alive.

Claire shifted in Uncle Jamie’s arms, turning to face him. He heard a deep murmur, rising in pitch as if asking a question. And after a while, the slow sounds of a kiss.

Ian rolled back over to face the darkness. Heart and mind racing.

–

“There – that should be the last of it.”

Claire fastened the saddlebag astride Teine’s haunches, patting the roan horse’s neck. “Thank you, Ian. You’re sure your chest is all right? No tightness this morning?”

He shook his head. “No – I’m right as rain. This clean country air has done me good!”

Uncle Jamie stepped away briefly from fastening his own saddlebags as Claire stepped into the stirrups – his arm right behind her back, ready to catch her if the horse startled.

His uncle was always attentive, to be sure – but this, this was different.

This was a woman worthy.

Claire was Jamie’s true wife.

Ian stepped up and took his seat in the saddle, adjusting his grip on the reins.

Jamie guided his horse between them, and began the slow trot to Lallybroch.


End file.
